In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My Lord and my God, I firmly believe that you are here, that you see me, that you hear me. I adore you with profound reverence. I ask your pardon for my sins and grace to make this time of prayer fruitful. My immaculate Mother, St. Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel: intercede for me.

Today, Jesus, we imagine you doing what you so often did: entering a village. Your reputation has gone before you, and you stay there for a few days. You teach, you heal the sick, you cast out demons, you bless children whom even the apostles have stopped trying to keep in line. And then, a few days later, you set off again on the road to Jerusalem.

But in that village, we can imagine there is a young man. A young man who hasn't known a moment's peace since he heard you were coming. He is the son of one of the wealthiest men in town and has considerable property of his own. He is a faithful Israelite who has always tried to keep the Law scrupulously, following every rule and precept. And yet, deep down, he feels something is missing. What he already does isn't enough for him, even though he does a great deal of good. He senses that God is asking something more of him, but he can't imagine what it might be.

What if he asked the Rabbi from Nazareth that everyone is talking about? He'd like to ask him privately, but the Rabbi is always surrounded by his apostles and crowds of people hanging on his every word. But what if Jesus never passes through his village again? What if he's left forever with this restlessness that is beginning to weigh too heavily on his heart?

Then, suddenly, we can imagine his mother walking in, breaking into his thoughts, and saying: "The Rabbi from Nazareth is leaving the village. Are you really not going to ask him what's been going round and round in your head?" The young man looks at her, surprised and grateful. Without a word from him, she has read his mind! So he doesn't stop to think twice: he leaps to his feet and goes looking for the Master.

But the village seems completely empty. We can imagine there is only one elderly woman left, who hasn't gone with the others to say goodbye to Jesus because she can no longer walk. The young man asks where Jesus of Nazareth has gone, and the old woman, with a smile full of warmth, points him towards the road that leads out of the village towards Jerusalem.

The young man pushes past all his doubts and starts to run. He doesn't care what anyone thinks. He is going to ask the Master the question that matters most, whatever it takes. He soon sees that the group is not too far ahead, and when he reaches them, he doesn't slow down — he weaves past the disciples, who exchange glances as if to say, "What's got into this kid?" — until he plants himself in front of Jesus and drops to his knees.

The Master stops. A deep silence falls, broken only by the young man's still-heaving breath. And now we are no longer imagining; we are reading straight from the Gospel: "As Jesus started on his way, a man ran up to him and fell on his knees before him. 'Good teacher,' he asked, 'what must I do to inherit eternal life?'"

Lord, you are struck by this young man's courage — his willingness to kneel before you in public, even as your enemies grow in number — and you are moved by his openness. He has not come to ask you to solve a problem or cure an illness. He has come to ask what he must do to inherit eternal life. He is one of those Jews who believes in eternal life. You smile, and you begin a conversation with him, one that will open up new horizons.

Jesus answered: "Why do you call me good? No one is good except God alone. You know the commandments: do not murder, do not commit adultery, do not steal, do not give false testimony, do not defraud, honour your father and mother." And the young man replies: "Teacher, all these I have kept since I was a boy. What do I still lack?"

He is proud — and rightly so — to be able to say honestly that he has kept them all. But he knows it isn't enough just to do good things. He knows from experience that simply following rules and moral laws does not fill the human heart.

And there you are, Lord, with that gaze of yours, looking at a soul so beautifully disposed. Saint Mark writes: "Jesus looked at him and loved him." And because you, Jesus, know better than anyone what is in each person's heart, you ask of him not merely what he can give, but what will truly make him happy. And you say: "One thing you lack."

The young man is captivated by your gaze. He feels known. He feels loved. He is ready to do whatever you ask: pray more hours in the synagogue, work harder, treat his father's servants better, give a generous gift to the poor... He holds his breath, waiting for your answer, to find out what this one thing is that he still lacks.

"One thing you lack. Go, sell everything you have and give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me."

And we can imagine that the young man, to his great misfortune, lets his gaze fall away from yours, Lord. He looks down at the ground, his mind quickly running through everything he would lose if he accepted your invitation. Sell what he has... What might a first-century Jewish man have owned? Not a house or a car or a phone; he wouldn't even have had toilet paper. Perhaps a donkey, a few acres of land, some livestock, three tunics, a pair of sandals — designer sandals, naturally. 

He had expected to be asked to share more, to take on some new obligation. But to give it all away? Then what would he have left? He had been planning to buy more land and saving up for a camel. Is he really to give everything to the poor, to people who (he thinks) don't work for their bread, and do nothing but beg? And then to go with Jesus, travelling through Palestine, witnessing miracles, listening to his teaching, side by side with those unlettered, rough-looking apostles — and never again tasting the rich meals his mother cooks...

Jesus' words keep echoing in his head, but he no longer looks at the Master. He is afraid that if his eyes meet yours, Lord, he won't be able to say no.

"'Sell your possessions, give to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me.' At this, his face fell, and he went away sad, because he had great wealth." He was very rich... poor man.

Every time we contemplate this scene, Lord, it saddens us — and it is not only because of the young man's lack of generosity. We watch him walk away, head bowed, after the surge of courage that brought him to his knees in front of everyone. He gets up and slowly moves away, under the astonished or indignant eyes of the apostles. And you, Lord, watch him go, and a tear of mercy comes to your eyes. But you do not stop him, because you have an immense respect for our freedom.

Then you turn to your disciples and, almost as a sigh, let this escape: "How hard it is for the rich to enter the Kingdom of God!" The disciples were amazed at his words, but Jesus went on: "Children, how hard it is to enter the Kingdom of God! It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for someone who is rich to enter the Kingdom of God."

They were astonished and said to each other, "Then who can be saved?" Jesus looked at them and said: "With man this is impossible, but not with God; all things are possible with God." God can make it so that, even when we have many possessions, our heart is not locked inside them. God can give us the grace to let go of everything and follow him.

And though they had been shaken by how hard it is to enter the Kingdom of God, suddenly Peter — realising that they have nothing, that they too felt the merciful gaze of Jesus, who looked at them and loved them and invited them to follow him, and that they did leave everything — speaks up: "We have left everything to follow you!"

Jesus said: "Truly I tell you, no one who has left home or brothers or sisters or mother or father or children or fields for me and the gospel will fail to receive a hundred times as much in this present age — homes, brothers, sisters, mothers, children and fields, along with persecutions — and in the age to come, eternal life."

Now imagine the loving gaze of Jesus resting on you — calling you, inviting you to follow him — and try not to look away. What is your reaction? Do you frown and walk away sad, or do you smile and say: "Here I am, Lord, because you have called me"?

I thank you, my God, for the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations you have communicated to me in this meditation. I ask your help to put them into effect. My immaculate Mother, St. Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel: intercede for me.